The Long Goodbye
by catalyst00
Summary: Dumbledore unearths a new plan to bring Voldemort down, but sacrifices have to be made, and destinies have to be fulfilled... SnapeHermione pairing
1. Prologue

"Hermione, can't you just give it a rest for an hour or two?" Ron all but whined, staring at the piles of books and notes that towered precariously on the table.

"Whatever for?" she reciprocated, pausing from her steadfast scribbling to give him an absent glance. She waved her wand to restore a few snuffed out candles and promptly resumed flipping through her Arithmancy textbook.

"Well, to relax! It _is _the Easter holidays after all."

"What, and be unprepared for the N.E.W.T.s like you are? No, thanks."

Ron gave one last attempt to lull her away from the columns of precise numbers, "Could you come over to my room when you're done, at least? For me?"

Her tone softened considerably when she looked up to stare into the bright blue eyes, a surge of fondness causing her lips to tilt in a resigned smile. "Alright, Ron, for you."

Already an inkling of regret was teasing the edges of her conscience for having chosen to live at 12 Grimmauld Place, where it was infinitely chaotic and noisy, rather than the comfortable quietness of her parents' place. But it was instantly dashed when the redhead rewarded her with a beatific smile of his own and a hurried peck on the cheek. She stared at the opposite wall for a while after Ron had clambered up the stairs, lost in a whirlwind of confusing thoughts, before abruptly returning to her notes, a steady blush blossoming on her cheeks while she inwardly cursed herself for the precious few seconds wasted. There was plenty of time for her to be nostalgic about the blossoming of her and Ron's relationship _after_ the N.E.W.T.s……

"Anyone home?" Hermione nearly jumped at the merry shriek, but immediately leapt forward to catch her falling inkpot a second before it would have hit the ground. A desolate sigh left her lips once again when a distinctive figure bustled into the kitchen. She looked at the clock that hung above the door – she'd been left alone for half an hour, at least, and that was saying something.

"Hello, Tonks." She said wearily.

"Hey 'Mione," the Auror mumbled through a mouthful of cookie crumbs. "You'd best clear that up, lots more people on the way." She flicked her wand at the various parchment and books littered across the table's surface and they all scrambled into a neat pile that floated out of the room and up the staircase.

"Oh?" Hermione's woes at having her notes flicked away so carelessly were immediately forgotten as she pulled up a chair to face Tonks. Not much of the Order had bothered coming to Grimmauld Place over Easter, summer being the preferred period for the house to turn overcrowded and cramped. So far, only the Weasleys, Harry, herself and occasionally Shacklebolt and Tonks resided in the house Sirius had left for them.

Sirius......a great wave of sorrow welled in her at the thought of the dark, handsome man who, despite the allegations of murder tacked onto his name, had a heart of gold beneath the quick tempers and changing moods. No one could deny the unmistakable love he'd held for Harry as a godson. And poor Harry, to recognise a father figure for once in his life only to have him snatched away so quickly….

"…. Snape, too. But Minerva and Dumbledore'll probably be arriving tomorrow."

Hermione started slightly when she finally realised that Tonks had been listing off the number of people who would be arriving tonight, but it was their headmaster's name that had pulled her from her reverie. Dumbledore was visiting? The wizard had found little time to hold meetings during the summer, much less in the Easter holidays, certainly the nature of the conference now would be one of extreme importance? Maybe even… a thrill shot through her, although she squashed it down irritably. It would do her no good to raise her hopes, only to have them crash down again. But maybe, just maybe, they had found a way to break the Deatheaters' ranks, to weaken the Dark Lord… Voldemort. She repeated the name firmly inside her head.

Before she could say anything in reply, though, Molly Weasley swept in, looking quite flustered as she plopped a brown grocery bag on the countertop. "Out of the way, now! The kitchen's out of limits till dinner. Merlin's beard, expecting me to cook up a feast for twenty in such short notice, what do they think I am?" The last comment was muttered under her breath, although Hermione couldn't help hearing it anyway. She followed Tonks out of the room and ascended the stairs, heedful of the curtained painting of Mrs. Black, which, to everyone's irritation, had _still _not been removed.

The rest of the afternoon was spent studying in the room that she and Ginny shared, over protests from the boys. Only when the twins were sent up to drag her down did she realise that she had been holed up with her books for a good five hours, not that she had much complaints against that. She actually felt quite pleased when she looked at her carefully plotted schedule; she was up to par if not ahead of her second revisions.

A chorus of greetings reached her ears when she stepped into the crowded kitchen. It was a whole different picture from the serene workplace she had left only hours ago. "Hermione! What a pleasure it is to see you again, since I haven't for quite a while, you've certainly grown!"

She turned to face the speaker, who turned out to be a widely grinning Ronald Weasley.

"Oh, you!" she chastised lightly while Shacklebolt conjured up a chair for her at the already overpopulated table. The conversations were flowing, and the atmosphere was light, a rarity for an occasion such as this, where they would normally be tense with anticipation. Hermione surveyed the faces as she sat, recognising all but a few : the whole Weasley family except for Percy, Tonks, Mad-Eye Moody, Shacklebolt, Hastia Jones, Mundungus Fletcher, two or three she wasn't familiar with and… Professor Snape, who was glowering quite unpleasantly at them all.

"You had a good afternoon, I reckon?" Harry inquired flippantly, sawing carelessly through a piece of lamb.

"Yeah, had fun with your books and all that?" Ron joined in, lips still stretched into an impish grin.

"It's not a laughing matter," she said prudently, although a smile couldn't help teasing the corners of her lips. "The N.E.W.T.s could determine whether you'll work in the Ministry or end up in Azkaban."

"I don't see the difference." Tonks quipped. Those who were listening chuckled.

"Where's Lupin?" Harry asked, looking around curiously before settling his gaze on Arthur Weasley.

"Oh, er… well, Lupin's… he's – "

"Do stop stuttering Arthur," Mad-Eye growled. "The man will be here in a day or two, Potter, rest assured."

Hermione couldn't help noticing that they hadn't exactly answered Harry's question but decided to let it pass and sat back amicably, letting the comfortable lull of conversations wash over her.

The food was, as usual, absolutely delicious, which was what one would expect from Mrs. Weasley's cooking. She had consumed two platefuls and had to force herself not to scoop another…before long there would be another inch or two strapped to her waistline if she wasn't careful. The boys, however, had no such worries. It took five or more helpings to satisfy the rowdy bunch.

"I'd best be off now," said a prim-looking witch with severe features, whose name had momentarily escaped Hermione's memory for the moment. "Thank you for the delightful dinner, Molly. I'll be coming by at around one tomorrow."

There were murmurs of assent, and a select few stood to leave, each edging around the table to give Molly their thanks before Apparating out with distinct 'pop's.

A brief moment of silence greeted their departure before it was broken by an exasperated sigh from Tonks. "Fine, _I_'ll do the dishes, you lazy sods." The twins and Ginny leapt up to leave the room at that, and Hermione followed a moment later, fully intending to squeeze in a chapter of the goblins' revolution before bed.

She didn't count on tripping over a wrinkled part of the carpet in front of an audience of ten.

"Oh, bollocks," she swore under her breath. The crowd burst into laughter after a startled silence. Great, here she was, all tangled up in some dusty old rug, and there they were being thoroughly entertained about it.

_Well, at least_someone _has manners_, she thought huffily when a hand edged into her vision. She grasped it firmly and tugged herself up. _Surprising, really, that Ron's turned into such a gentleman. I'd have expected him to be sitting on his arse and laughing his head off._

She was startled when instead of merrily twinkling blue eyes, a pair of beetle black ones met hers. Professor Snape! She could feel a familiar flush spreading from her neck to her face as she immediately released her grip and whirled to glare at Ron, who was, indeed, sitting on his arse and laughing his head off.

"Along with minding your mouth, Miss Granger, you'd do well to regain proper control over your limbs lest they'd be amputated, or something equally unfortunate that would render your ability to probe about others' lives useless."

How she longed to snap back, to tell him he wasn't all that better with his greasy hair, sallow complexion and nasty demeanour, that she at least was liked by most and not feared and hated. But she wasn't known as reliable, know-it-all Granger for nothing – she managed to leave with most of her dignity intact and an icy stare aimed at Harry and Ron, both of whom had only sat there minding their own businesses, Gryffindor courage be damned to hell and back again.

But she couldn't banish at the little thrill that sparked from the surly man's touch, and the image of his dark, intense gaze kept rising in her mind, surely it wasn't… she hurriedly put a halt on that train of thought. She was tired and mightily irritated, that was all. And she had Ron after all.

Right?


	2. The Armaments Race

The next day dawned bright and cheery to Harry and Ron's delight. Hermione, though, didn't share their sentiments. The seemingly infinite expanse of bright, cloudless blue sky was a temptation she could do without, although she couldn't help nudging the dusty window open a bit to let the fresh air and sunlight in.

_Well, _she stared at her books in grim determination. _Back to 101 ways of transfiguring a shoelace._

She gave the thick pages a few half-hearted flips before giving up entirely with a frustrated groan. Really, what had gotten into her today?

So it was with a defeated sigh and a reassurance that she had gone over it once that Hermione clambered down the stairs to the kitchen, where it was in its usual flurry of activity.

"Oh, hello dear, have you finished studying already?" Mrs Weasley asked kindly, although she looked a bit flustered from running about the small space and monitoring the progress of the various utensils that chopped, mixed, stirred, sliced, mashed and fried by their very own selves.

"Not really, I've only come down for a bit of fresh air."

"I see, I see. I do wish Ron had your efficiency," the homely redhead said conversationally whilst fiddling with the chopping board, "But all he's got in that brain of his is Quidditch, Quidditch, Quidditch. He'll soon turn out like the twins, he will."

Hermione attempted a modest grin but failed miserably. "Boys will be boys, I suppose. Can I help with anything?"

"No, no, everything's under control. Go join Ginny and Tonks in the living room, dear, lunch won't be for a while yet."

She was about to protest, but when Mrs Weasley turned her back on Hermione and started waving her wand at a pot, which immediately started sizzling, she decided she'd rather lounge in the living room.

It was dark and gloomy there save for merry flames in the fireplace that caused ominous shadows to dance on the walls. Sternly scowling portraits trained their beady gaze on Hermione as she walked into the room, and various scraps of anatomy adorned the remaining space. The house elves' heads, thank Merlin, had been removed from the corridors, but the living room had yet to be refurnished. What seemed to be acromantula legs were artistically splayed (probably the reason that this was Ron's least favourite room), multiple eyeballs floated eerily in a jar filled with murky water, and a chimaera head was frozen in mid-roar and took a place of honour right above the mantel. Hermione shivered a little before sinking into one of the overstuffed armchairs.

"Oi, Hermione, come to join the show?" Tonks was sporting a dark shade of green hair today, but the Head Girl's attention was drawn to something else: Fred and George Weasley. The Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes owners were brandishing a queer blue object in a clear glass box that squished into a different size every few minutes.

Before she could question them on it, though, the fireplace coughed a cloud of ash out at them, causing her and Ginny to leap from their seats in alarm. It spewed another puff of dust before the flames burned green and spat a figure out; he sat there for a moment before standing to dust his shabby robes.

Tonks stood with a grin and attempted to pat the ash from his robes before giving up and whipping her wand out. "How nice of you to drop by, Remus… _scourgify _; there, nice and clean now." She stepped back to survey her work and nodded, apparently pleased.

Lupin, who looked scruffier than usual, gave her a wry glance. "Thank you, Tonks. Dumbledore and Minerva will also be stopping by soon, I believe." He gave the rest of the room a weary smile.

True to his word, two loud pops sounded not long after, and a chorus of greetings from the hallway alerted them that it was, indeed, the Headmaster and McGonagall.

A moment later the room was filled to the darkest of corners with Order members. Hermione literally had to perch on the edge of her chair to accommodate Ron, Ginny, and Harry. She looked at the sea of faces as she mentally ticked off names, but couldn't help noticing Lupin giving a brief nod to Dumbledore as he drew up a chair to sit next to McGonagall, who flanked the old wizard along with Severus.

"Dumbledore, do you think it wise to include the children in this?" a disapproving frown was on Mrs Weasley's face. She still wasn't comfortable with them being privy to Order meetings, but Dumbledore had insisted that they be informed after the confrontation with Harry earlier last year.

"I'd rather they be, Molly," Dumbledore surveyed the room with sober blue eyes, waiting until the rising swell of conversations had faded enough for him to be heard before starting again. "I'm certain most of you must think this queer, but I wouldn't have summoned you all if it were not an important matter. A select few know that Severus, Minerva, and myself have been developing an interesting… weapon, if you will, for the past few years." He allowed a pause as a ripple of excitement travelled from group to group. "We have yet to determine its form – that is to say, whether it will be substantial or spell work – but the basics have already been established."

The assorted crowd pressed closer at this, all eager for the Headmaster to continue. Hermione, too, leaned forward, and she saw Harry do the same.

"Now, we have been suspecting, from Mr. Potter's findings, that the greatest advantage we have over Lord Voldemort is love, as trite as this may sound. Putting the more complex aspects aside, we basically extract the element of love from a couple. This we have accomplished, and I believe it will weaken Voldemort considerably, but alas, not to the point of peril."

He turned his gaze to Harry for a fraction of a second before once again addressing the crowd with that famous, omniscient twinkle in his eye that belied his old age.

"If anyone should wish to further comprehend it, I'm certain that Severus would be glad to assist."

A quiet snort came from Ron's direction, and Hermione elbowed him before looking at Snape herself; there was a sour expression on his face, and he looked like he'd be anything _but_ glad to help. She doubted anyone would truly go to him anyway unless they were absolutely required to, and couldn't help feeling an inkling of compassion for the broody Potions master. But the idea _did_ have some credibility; she herself would like to get to know more of the details…

"Hermione, you're not seriously thinking of going to that old bat, are you?" Ron hissed from beside her.

She started at his words, sometimes Ron could be incredibly sensitive, but more often than not he was in too much of a daze to notice people around him. "Really, Ron, I don't know why you have to be so callous about him."

"Well, let me think now, maybe it's 'cause he's been nothing but prejudiced and snide to us since first year?"

"Oh, come on -"

"When will you two ever stop?" Harry groaned in an exasperated way.

"Well, he started it," Hermione murmured sullenly, aware that she sounded like a five year old.

Dumbledore cleared his throat just then and gave the three a significant look. "We have hatched a plan that's, of course, in early stages. Please consult Minerva if you are in any way interested, she shall be explaining whatever may be revealed at the moment and taking your names down." And with a curt nod that clearly signified the end of the meeting, Dumbledore stood and smoothed his robes.

"What do you reckon?" said Harry, absently running a hand through his unkempt dark hair as a line started to form in front of their Head of House.

"What, about the couple? I'd say Tonks and Lupin are in the running."

Hermione only barely suppressed a gasp. "_What?_ You're not joking, Ron, are you? Tonks and _Lupin_?"

"No, Miss Granger," she whirled to meet a pair of merrily twinkling blue eyes. "I daresay not."

"P-Professor Dumbledore!" a blush bloomed on her pale cheeks.

He nodded in acknowledgement while gesturing at the adjoining room. "A private word with you three, if you please?"

Practically bursting with curiosity, the trio threaded through the crowd (most of whom were gathered before McGonagall) after Dumbledore into the next room. It was dusty and ancient, but wonderfully so. Shelves and shelves of books lined the walls, towering gloriously over them all, and directly opposite the door was a window that swept from the floor to the ceiling, offering a murky view of the London streets. Dumbledore flicked his wand, and heavy red drapes slid over the window pane.

"Have a seat," he lifted a hand in the direction of a cluster of brown, leather chairs before the fireplace. Hermione glimpsed a few of the book titles and noted that most of them had to do with the Dark Arts, must've been Sirius's dark wizards' heritage then; she hadn't had a chance to venture into this part of the house before, and wouldn't mind doing so in the future, but it didn't seem that they would allow her to browse the dusty tomes anytime soon.

A steaming mug of cocoa appeared before her the minute she sat down. The same happened to Harry, Ron and… Snape. She gave him a tentative nod of greeting but he, as expected, gave no indication that he had noticed, although she did catch those dark eyes lingering on hers for the barest of seconds.

She tried to dismiss the queer little leap of satisfaction that her stomach made at the near-acknowledgement.

"Now, Harry, I know you've yet to reveal the prophecy from the Department of Mysteries." Dumbledore started as he lifted a Pensieve and settled it on the coffee table.He prodded his wand into the silvery mass, and a second later Trelawney rose, slowly rotating as she clasped her shawls tight. She recited the prophecy in a harsh, guttural voice, and then sank back into the mysterious substance.

There was a stunned sort of silence when none of the five occupants spoke.

Then Hermione said timidly, "So… does that – must Harry be the one who vanquishes You-Know-Wh… V-Voldemort, then?"

"Yes, Hermione, it does. I gather that you have an idea of why I wanted to speak privately with you?"

She did have an idea, but found that it wasn't to her liking. "You want to include Harry in your plans, don't you? You want him to be the one who kills You-Know-Who?" She hadn't meant for the question to sound accusatory, but she did have an unfortunate habit of speaking without thinking first.

"Very good, Miss Granger. Toffee, anyone?" his long fingers fished for a candy from a small yellow dish and unwrapped it while holding the dish out. Ron leaned forward curiously to take one, ignoring the glare from Hermione. He too unwrapped it and observed it for a while. "I am rather fond of Muggle sweets, although they aren't quite as exciting as ours." Dumbledore said with a chuckle as he popped the toffee into his mouth.

"So why have you included us too?"

Clear blue eyes met hers for a long moment, and she thought that he had been about to speak when he steepled his fingers, but the entrance of two people caught their attention and forestalled the explanation.

"Remus, Minerva," Dumbledore greeted in turn, waving his wand to conjure two more chairs. Rather than sinking into the comfortable armchairs, though, Lupin headed straight for the Headmaster, who stood up and led him to a corner where they were partially hidden by a bookshelf. Hermione's gaze met the other two's curiously, and they all tried to lean forward inconspicuously to eardrop.

"I _think_," drawled a familiar voice, startling them into throwing themselves back into the chairs. "That the Headmaster would have at least had the foresight to cast a Silencing Charm to prevent nosy Gryffindors like yourselves from listening in."

"Potter." said McGonagall in a warning tone as she sipped some tea from her cup and sniffed rather primly while addressing Snape. "Do refrain yourself from aggravating my students, Severus. They are, after all, 'nosy Gryffindors' of my House."

The Potions Master's lip curled, but he said nothing in return. They all sat in awkward silence until Dumbledore and Lupin returned, both looking a tad disconcerted. He sank into his puffy chintz chair and stared contemplatively into the licking flames of the fire, a small frown marring his otherwise serene features.

After about five minutes, he seemed to remember that there were other people in the room, and his expression immediately cleared, although Hermione suspected that it was a result from years of practice. "Yes, well, there is also the matter of the spell I mentioned earlier. We have yet to secure candidates for it, and perhaps…" the lilting flow of his speech trailed off, and Hermione could just _feel_ his gaze on her. Oh, no, he didn't mean……

"Professor… you're not - you don't want _me_ to do it, do you?"

An amused chuckle came from McGonagall. "Why, Hermione, of course he doesn't." She turned, still with that airy tilt to her lips, to Dumbledore. "Don't mislead the poor girl, Albus, surely you don't…"

"She _is_ the likeliest choice, Minerva."

"What, you mean me and Ron?" Hermione said, a little shriller than usual as she tried to will her blush away – but, of course, to no avail. She turned to Ron, whose face was approximately the shade of his hair, and he gave her a wide-eyed look of bewilderment in return.

"But of course."

Hermione found herself for once resenting the Headmaster's ability to somehow know about everything that happened within the walls of his castle. Didn't someone like him make better use of his time rather than matchmaking and participating in school gossip?!

"Your training shall start as soon as the second term does. It will not," he raised an eyebrow at Hermione. "Interfere in anyway with your school work. Professor Lupin will be paired with Harry, Professor McGonagall with Ron, and last but not least, Professor Snape with Hermione. Now, I find my stomach asking for lunch."

He stood to leave but was stopped by McGonagall, who was protesting (Hermione hoped) in furious whispers. Someone tugged on her sleeve, and she stood dazedly to follow the others into the kitchen.

What in Merlin's name had just happened?


	3. Have Faith In Me

Reviews, yay! I was originally waiting to finish this chapter sometime next week, but decided to put it up earlier cos of you guys; so here you go, a slightly longer and somewhat tedious chapter.

Ghost of Allknowing, blackiebrens, Nore, Wembricken, BadBoyLover, Natsuyori, green and silver – thank you so much )

Akalei – thanks, I'll be doing that!

Dark One – you flatter me too much, and yes, I was wondering what Hermione would say in a situation like that, thanks though!

ShadowMoony – I can't promise you anything, but I will say that I'm planning an angsty ending!

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"There, you got what you've wished for," Ron said out of the corner of his mouth as they exited the room.

"I didn't _wish_ for anything, Ron," Hermione said crossly. "Don't be ridiculous."

He managed to remain quiet for about five seconds before starting again. "Oh, come on. Don't tell me you haven't been thinking of a way to get information about that stupid spell."

But Hermione's attention wasn't on their daily banter anymore; it was on what Dumbledore had said. Had the old wizard finally lost his marbles? What Befuddlement Draughts had been fed to him, she wondered, to make him contemplate sending three teenagers to face Lord Voldemort? Stupid spell, indeed. And what had he meant by 'training' anyway? She dreaded the answer, but all the same…

"Ow… wha-" Harry started as she stopped abruptly, causing both boys to knock into her. She paid no heed though, and started to turn back, fully intending on confronting Dumbledore about the whole sorry situation. But there was a tightening around her arm, and she was led back towards the kitchen, where merry laughter and snitches of conversations trickled through. "Don't be daft, Hermione, if Dumbledore didn't want to answer, then he won't answer. It'd be best to wait until he explains himself."

She shot a glare at the tall, dark-haired boy, but it was parried only with a steady green gaze.

Finally, with a haughty little huff, she relented, "Oh, alright, I suppose if anyone knows him, you do. It doesn't mean I'm happy about it though." She stomped towards the kitchen and shoved the door open with an unnecessary amount of force that garnered many surprised stares.

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Two weeks later found Severus Snape behind his desk, which was bearing the brunt of his students' rather dismal works. However, the professor's attention wasn't on the essays, and his quill was not moving in rapid strokes to rectify the many mistakes they had made. He found that, instead of steps on how to prepare a Draft of Peace, a pair of wide, vivid brown eyes had somehow surfaced in his brain, teasing the edges of his conscience tantalisingly, daring him to snatch it and store it in the precious few memories he found memorable enough to dwell on.

His quill fell abruptly from his fist, and pale fingers rose to rub at aching temples. It must've been the fire whiskey he'd had earlier. A knock caused him to look up sharply, and he steadied himself for a second and picked up his quill before saying, "Enter."

The heavy door swung tentatively open, and a head of bushy curls peeked into the room. Mentally, he gave a start, for he had forgotten about his appointment with Hermione Granger.

"Ah, yes, Miss Granger." He swiftly recovered from this mild surprise, though, and his severe features tilted in a curt nod at one of the desks. "Have a seat."

She chose one of the chairs nearest to him, and settled comfortably onto it, folding her hands primly on the desks and training her avid gaze onto him. So much of those bright eyes reminded him of… well, himself, if anyone could believe so. Himself before the Dark Lord's rise to power, himself as a bright student, greedy only for knowledge and not for power. Not yet, anyhow.

Hastily he averted his gaze from hers to stare dourly at the tornado of words in front of him. Dear gods, the least these children could have done was to learn and write _properly_.

The pile in front of him diminished steadily, and Hermione sat still and unquestioning, until he had at last finished marking the papers. He was, frankly, put off by her quietness. She hadn't earned the reputation of Hogwarts' resident know-it-all for nothing, after all. He wouldn't be surprised if this was the longest time she had went without talking when sitting in a room with someone else. Of course, it could have made a difference that that someone else was him. He wasn't exactly seen as a great conversationalist one would go to when wanting to discuss Arithmancy theories or hold idle chitchat with.

"You're early, Miss Granger."

He looked at the ornate clock that hung over the chalkboard. She was nearly half an hour early.

"Better early than late, sir."

"I trust that the Headmaster has designated a time to discuss with you the details of his scheme?"

Scheme, indeed. He'd wondered many a time of the wise old wizard's intents, for no one in his right mind would send those three nuisances to defeat the greatest, most terrifying presence ever to be introduced to magical history. _He_ would not put so much faith in a bunch of prophecies and predictions, Hogwarts itself housed a Divination 'professor' that provided enough proof to certify that the subject was rubbish.

Perhaps that would be the reason why he wasn't occupying Albus Dumbledore's shoes, he thought with a cynical little curl of his lips.

"No, sir."

"No?"

She shook her head to confirm the fact. Trust Dumbledore to leave all the dirty work to him. He sighed once again and resumed the massaging of his temples in a vain attempt to tame his growing headache. "Tell me, Miss Granger, are you truly comfortable with the arrangements?"

After approximately two minutes had passed and there was no response, the Potions master focussed his carefully inscrutable gaze on the girl. She seemed taken aback at his inquiry, her eyebrows were knitted in a delicate little frown and she was nibbling away at her bottom lip in what he assumed was bemusement.

"Well, girl? Kneazle got your tongue?"

"I, um– well, I honestly haven't thought about it much."

"I suppose that in itself must have been a feat for you, Miss Granger." he retorted almost without thought as he tidied the essays and slipped them into a drawer, studying the girl subtly from where he was perched. She was bristling with barely concealed indignation; that much he could fathom. He leaned back on his seat to observe her properly now, waiting her out.

After about five minutes of tense silence, Hermione spoke at last.

"Professor, I was wondering… what exactly will we be training for?"

His head shot up, and he trained glittering dark eyes on her for daring to speak without his permission. His headache throbbed worst than ever now, and he stood to stride silently towards one of the many shelves on the walls to pick out a deep blue concoction. He brewed a batch at the end of every month so that he'd have a steady supply for his never-ending bouts of headache. After downing the potion in one go and disposing the container in a bucket he kept for such purposes, he started to speak, keeping an eye on the clock whilst he did so.

"You will all be learning individually, not one of you will train for the same purposes. To extent of my knowledge, Professor McGonagall shall be refining Weasley's shielding skills, if he possesses any at all; and Potter, of course, will be working on the… banishing spell with Lupin. Now, I, Miss Granger, will be honing your hexing ability and most probably, the spell that will weaken the Dark Lord's defences."

"Is it – is it finished, that spell?"

He looked down at the fresh-faced girl from his position before her, her soft features – and those bright hazel eyes – were turned up to look at him properly, for he had drifted forward until he was almost touching the desk which she sat behind. He wondered if he should acknowledge her questions at all, or waste his time conjuring a satisfying enough answer that would not reveal as much to the trio. Perhaps to be on the safe side, he'd keep to the barest minimum of words.

"Certain aspects of it, yes. Now," he glanced once again at the ticking clock, which was a rather Muggle-like contraception, with the usual two hands and twelve numbers on its face. A wisp of a voice drifted through his mind, idly questioning if it was for practical purposes, or only a diversion from that probing, expectant gaze. "The Headmaster will be expecting us."

He turned precisely to the dormant fireplace and grasped a handful of glittering powder from a small, wooden bowl on the mantel. "You are familiar with Floo powder, I suppose?"

"Of course I am," she said, striding to his side and sinking her hand into the grains defiantly. A whisper of a touch brushed by his face – her hair, he realised. There was an odd tightness in his chest, which gave a small leap when something brushed against his hand. He turned almost instinctively to glare at the culprit…Hermione Granger, in this instance. She herself gave a little flinch, and he noted the way the porcelain skin on her slender neck convulsed as she swallowed, whether from fear or nervousness, he did not know.

_But of course, why would anyone want to touch a nasty, greasy old Potions professor if they could help it?_ He thought sourly as he stepped back and snapped moodily at her, "Well? Get on with it, then. I don't have all day, you know."

He thought he saw a flash of something – anger, or maybe…hurt? No, of course not – in those doe-like eyes, but it disappeared quickly as she stepped forward and threw the Floo powder into the fireplace. Great licking flames of emerald hissed and sparked into life at that, and Hermione stepped in and said clearly, "The Headmaster's office."

Nothing happened for a second, then the roaring fire embraced her and she was gone. The room was once again cold and silent. _And empty without her,_ a little voice whispered in his head. The vision of that bold stare of hers as it met his a millisecond before she was Flooed away stayed stubbornly in his mind; he leaned against the fireplace, relishing the cold, metallic surface against the planes of his face, a slap of reality that roused him from those oh so alluring eyes. It was nothing. He had only been lonely for too long and was grasping at any a being who dared to come near him. It was a phase. It would pass. It _must_.

With a shaky sigh he opened his palm to let the Floo powder filter through his grip, watching as they trickled onto the hearth and burst into green flames. He stepped in and echoing Hermione's earlier actions stated his destination. There was a familiar jerk behind the region of his navel, and a dizzying spin before the fireplace spat him out, this time in a cheerily lit room.

"Severus, how nice of you to join us at last," Dumbledore boomed..

He said not a word of greeting in return to Dumbledore as he sank into the seat between McGonagall and Hermione. Everyone, including Lupin, was here. He made a little reminder to himself to ask Dumbledore how he was transporting the werewolf to and from the castle.

"My sincerest apologies for my abrupt departure at our first meeting," the Headmaster started, bushy brows rising as he surveyed the trio over steepled fingers, his clear blue eyes as always twinkling merrily. "You have been provided explanations on your training, yes?"

Everyone was silent, which Dumbledore took for a yes. He nodded to himself and leaned back, adjusting his lopsided hat, purple today to match his robes.

Harry, however, cleared his throat, and everyone turned to look at him. He tugged at his scarlet and gold tie anxiously. "Professor Dumbledore, I wanted to know if to destroy Voldemort –" Ron gave a nervous twitch at this. "- I would have to use the… the Killing Curse?"

So, the boy wasn't as naive as Snape had originally thought him.

"But that would be illegal!" Hermione exclaimed, her features arranged in an incredulous frown.

"That would be the least of our worries, Miss Granger." Dumbledore said gently, his tone suddenly much graver. "And I'm sorry to say that yes, Harry, you will have to, since no other curse has been unearthed that will slay another with such effectiveness."

The boy looked troubled now, and Snape felt a twinge of pity despite himself. If he had, at that age, been saddled with the weight of murder on his mind… well, he _had_ actually experienced such a thing during his Deatheater days, and it ate away at his conscience even now, every single hour of every single day. He was surprised to say that it bothered him that Dumbledore was going to willingly condemn Harry to the very same fate, knowing what it would do, that it would haunt his every move in the future, that even in sleep he would dream of death and terror that even the strongest of dreamless sleep draughts couldn't stop, until the day that he himself died.

"I expect, by summer, that you will all be well versed in your roles." Dumbledore started again, looking at them all over his half moon glasses. "All of you must be familiar with various hexes, of course; Harry with the Avada Kedavra spell, for obvious reasons; Ron with your shields, so that you may protect your friends whilst they launch their attacks; and last but not least, Hermione, with the weakening spell. We have, I am pleased to announce, established that it will be in the form of a spell, since we have found no other solution to get near enough to Lord Voldemort to feed him a potion. I will speak to you and Severus about it later. Now, Harry," he smiled at the boy, who was ruffling his unkempt black hair in distress. "You will be spending your first session with me, although Minerva will also be present."

Harry nodded to show that he understood. "That's tomorrow, right?"

"Yes, tomorrow. Are there any misunderstandings that need to be cleared, then?"

"Er," Ron volunteered, and Dumbledore nodded at him encouragingly. "Well, I was wondering… if the spell thingy needs to use a love _between_ two people, then why is Hermione the only one who has to learn it?"

"Ah, a good question." The tips of Ron's ears turned red at that. "The spell requires two whilst in use, of course, but only one has to familiarize himself with the activation of the spell. Hermione has shown talent in her spell work, as with every other subject, so she would naturally be the best choice; now you, Mr Weasley, are more gifted with Defence Against Dark Arts, and thus would be the likelier candidate for brandishing shields."

"But why can't Aurors like Tonks or Mad-Eye Moody do it?" Hermione blurted, then immediately flushed when she realised what she had said and hastily explained, "I'm not saying that you aren't good, Ron, it's only a question."

"Yeah, I understand," the lanky teenager mumbled, the blush now reaching his cheeks.

Dumbledore fished a lemon drop from the folds of his robes and popped one into his mouth before saying, "They will be there for your protection, as will I."

Now that their curiosity was satisfied, the boys seemed anxious to leave and mull over their thoughts in silence. Dumbledore picked up on this and stood. "The meeting will end here. Remember, Harry, eight 'o clock tomorrow." He tapped his rather crooked nose and waved his wand so that the office door swung open.

Hermione, too, stood to leave, and Severus almost reached out a hand to stop her before thinking better of it. He instead settled for purring, "Miss Granger, I believe that the Headmaster has requested that you stay behind."

"Oh," she looked flustered; a strand of hair had escaped her braid to hang hinderingly over her face, and Snape had to quell the sudden urge to brush it away. Honestly, what had gotten over him?

Dumbledore returned after a moment, holding a long, thin box which seemed to be clothed in black leather.

"This is the wand you'll be using, Hermione," he said as he drew the cover away.

Snape had seen it before. He had been one of the people who had made it, after all, so he didn't quite feel as astounded as Hermione looked, although he couldn't quite fathom why.

"A problem, Miss Granger?" he inquired silkily.

She shut her mouth hastily and lowered her gaze for a moment before looking up, directly into his eyes. "Well, it only looks so… _plain_."

"And what did you expect, dandelions adorning the hilt while bunnies hop gaily along the length of it?"

"Now, now, Severus," Dumbledore said mildly, although he couldn't stop the gentle chuckle that left his lips. He retrieved a bag of lemon drops and offered one to each of them (they both declined) before taking one himself.

Snape shifted restlessly, he had never quite mastered Dumbledore's patience, even after so many years of working alongside the man. "Headmaster, is this about the binding?"

To be frank, the binding ritual had troubled him ever since he learned the Hermione would be the sole bearer of the weakening spell's power, even though he knew that it was safe as ever, doubts couldn't help gnawing at his conscience.

"Why, yes, it is in fact. You read my mind, Severus. I was thinking, perhaps it should commence now. After all, it would forward our progress tremendously."

Not for the first time, Snape wondered if the Headmaster wasn't so blinded by his aspirations to get rid of the Dark Lord once and for all that he was putting aside the students' safety; it had grown almost to be an obsession for the wizard after so many years of darkness and turmoil, not to mention when Voldemort had foiled him so many times. He imagined it must've been very frustrating for Dumbledore to have the Dark Lord so within his reach, yet just barely out of his grip all of the time. And now, here, a chance had been presented right under his nose after many years of research and experiments… why would he care if three innocent bystanders were injured in the process? But… no, that wasn't like Dumbledore. The welfare of students was always first and foremost in the Headmaster's mind, it wouldn't change now... he was only grasping at straws. He forced himself to nod.

"And Hermione has the weekend to recover, if it should sap her strength too much," Dumbledore continued, although he didn't sound nearly as confident right now. Snape had a sneaking suspicion that it was only to reassure himself, and not Hermione. "I have everything set up, Severus. Would you mind doing the honors, though? I'm afraid my frail old hands would not do nearly as well as yours."

Snape wanted to spit 'nonsense' at the old wizard, but held himself back from doing so and merely nodded. He stood to trail after him, sparing a glance for a bemused Hermione. They headed for a little, unnoticeable door at the back of the office, which opened into a bare, white, windowless room. It was the size of a broom cupboard and very dim save for a ringlet of candles set in the center.

"What is this?" Hermione finally asked from behind them. The little tremor in her voice weakened his resolve to be cold and clinical, and as he turned to shut the door, he led her to a corner to explain the proceedings while Dumbledore conjured four clear glass dishes and set them in precise corners just outside the circle that formed a square.

"This, Miss Granger, is a ritual that will bind your aura to the wand that the Headmaster displayed earlier. That is why he designated a specific wand for you to use, it was built for this spell, and this spell only." He could tell from the sudden light her expression took that she wanted to know more about the formulas and reasoning behind this, and cut her off abruptly. "Now, all you will have to do is sit _still_ in the middle, don't tell me you can't even manage that."

She frowned, but nodded all the same. "Of course I can. Anything else?"

He hesitated when her gaze never wavered from his, a rare occurrence where he was concerned. What on earth was motivating him to strip her of this blessed innocence?

He steeled himself and turned to observe Dumbledore, who was now filling the dishes. "Have faith in me, Granger. That's all."

His throat suddenly felt parched and dry, like someone had vacuumed all the moisture from it, and swallowed to try and rid himself of the feeling. She didn't answer, of course she didn't, and he hadn't expected her to. _You wanted her to,_ said that irritating, tinny voice in his head. No, of course didn't _want_ her to. No one in their right mind would trust him after all.

When Dumbledore had at last finished pouring various elements into the dishes (sand, water, fire and an empty one, for air) Snape lifted his wand and murmured a little charm that exchanged her common robes for pure white ones. "Come, now."

He made to step forward, but almost toppled over in shock when a small, delicate hand slipped into his. His hand twitched at the unfamiliar sensation of someone actually _touching_ it before closing instinctively over hers. He stood very still, and then looked down at her. Hermione was already staring back, her expression so serene that it made his heart ache.

"I do, you know," she whispered, giving him a flicker of a smile before starting towards the circle.

A dull sort of burning sensation filled his throat at that; Merlin help him, the emotions this girl could stir, the things she did. It made what he was about to do all that much harder. Before he could reply, though, Dumbledore came bustling over, giving only a passing glance at their adjoined hands before waving Hermione off. "To the middle, Miss Granger."

"Headmaster, are you certain…?"

"Yes, Severus, it's all for the best." he said firmly. "Now, I have denied myself sleep last night to craft this," he held out a crumpled piece of parchment. "Read it during the spell, it will serve to strengthen it. You remember clearly what you have to do?"

"I'm not some incompetent dunderhead, you know." said Snape. He ran through the carefully inked words, which were in Latin and couldn't be translated immediately, much to his chagrin. "No last words, Dumbledore?"

"None, my dear friend, except to be careful with the girl."

"That, I will."

The Headmaster smiled and patted him on the shoulder before retreating to the corner and lifting his hand as an indication for him to start. He couldn't help being fond of the old fool, even if he disagreed with his decisions at times.

Snape turned with parchment in hand, his mind on the exact order of things he had to do; but they promptly flew out of his head at the lovely sight that greeted him. Hermione, as instructed, was kneeling in the middle of the circle in the simple white dress he had fabricated for her, her normally wildly bushy hair tamed into a braid right down her back, her eyes closed and the candles casting an unearthly glow about her. Damn Albus Dumbledore. Why did he have to torture him so? No, he mustn't think of such things, he couldn't for a spell as intricate as this… he closed his eyes to clear his mind of all emotion, envisioning all his bottled up feelings sliding away from him like an icy blanket.

After casting a purifying charm on himself, Snape stepped into the ring of candles with a heavy heart. He stood behind her, a bottle that contained clear, transparent liquid floating along behind him, the result of a levitating spell. He had brewed it personally for this spell, and knew the biting sensation on one's skin when it was applied. Oh, if he had known… but no, no thoughts, Snape, no emotions.

He took a deep, deep breath, then raised his wand and rolled his wrist in a complicated little twirl. The fire from the candles turned blue. He then hissed '_Wingardium Leviosa_' so that the parchment Dumbledore had handed him floated at eye-level.

"Now, Miss Granger, however much… discomforted you are, you must _not_ utter a sound, nor make a movement."

His lips pressed into a thin line of concentration, and he read the words before him in a low, lilting voice – it was quite a bit different compared to the usual, silky tone he employed. He rested his hands on her shoulders, and when finished reciting the first two lines, unsealed the bottle to pour it down her back. There was a subtle shiver along her spine, he could see the delicate texture of her skin rising in goose bumps but emptied the thought the moment it had penetrated his mind. He read the next four lines, and then lifted his hands to fish the wand from his robes. It was, as she had observed earlier, nothing special, but the wood was subtly finer so as to increase chances of absorption, and it was hollowed in the middle. He kneeled too, although still behind her, and had time to note that her head came just up to his chin before he pressed the wand firmly to her wand arm. He knew the effort she went to not to gasp at that, for the potion had, along with its original function, increased the sensitivity of her skin. He continued muttering along all this, feeling the rise of magical energy in the room, knowing it to be Hermione's. He could sense that it was draining her of her powers, of her aura, to be more precise, but pressed the wand even more firmly against her skin. The hollow was slowly filling now with a rainbow tinged substance that shimmered gently… almost… any time now. When there was only half an inch or so left to fill, Snape took a small, intricately carved blade from beside him. He couldn't falter now, or the whole thing would be ruined. Swiftly he brought it to her arm and sank it into the unblemished silkiness of her skin. He himself would have cried out when it bit into the flesh, sullying the milkiness with droplets of pure red, but she needed his concentration right now; _he_ needed to concentrate right now. Her blood seeped into the wand, and he was so intent on counting how many drops filled it that he didn't notice when the blade shot up of its own accord and plunged into his arm. What…?! He flinched and turned his arm up so that it wouldn't spoil the spell, but nevertheless five precise droplets fell into the wand, matching the number required from Hermione. Was it ruined, now? He'd have hell to pay with Dumbledore…He lifted it from her skin. The swell of magic in the room roared, as if put out that it had been denied from its source of power, before clashing into the buzzing, mundane level of energy.

The drugging sense of adrenaline in his veins gradually lessened, and Snape was about to turn and ask Dumbledore about it all when there was a sharp sigh… Hermione! He whirled back, still on his knees, just in time to catch her as she fell.


	4. The Parting

Wow, it's been ages since I've updated, hasn't it? To anyone who's still checking this story, I am _very_ sorry, and I'll be attempting to update regularly from now on. I know this chapter is rather short, but bear with me and my recovering muse

* * *

_Uggh._ Her head felt like two Hypogriffs had sat on it, before allowing the Hogwarts Express to run over her. Thrice. Hermione blinked blearily, quickly recoiling when her vision came in contact with light. Horrible, piercing, headache-encouraging l. What had _happened_ to her? She stopped trying to get up and lay back onto the bed instead, drawing up the sheets before realising that they felt… different. Silky. Not her heavy, comfortable duvet.

Voices… there were muffled voices, right outside her bedroom door, she assumed. It sounded like Professor Dumbledore and… Professor Snape. Hermione groaned, the full memory of what had taken place the night before crashing down on her – the white room, the odd, coreless wand, the knife, the touch of gentle hands upon her… No. Stop. Oh, to hell with it, she decided to risk getting up, gingerly testing her limbs before she did so. Her right arm felt sore, a light bruise had formed where the knife had stabbed her, and her back ached slightly when she swung her legs onto the floor. Well, not too bad. Next came her eyes… she blinked tentatively, snapping her eyelids shut when the light stung at them again. She had never had a hangover before, but presumed that this was what it would feel like. Why anyone would willingly endure such hell for only a drink or two of alcohol mystified her.

"I do not appreciate you hiding things from me. Have I not endured countless years as a spy for the Order? Doesn't that alone warrant me this one answer that I ask from you?"

It was Professor Snape. Hermione's features twisted into a frown, before she realised that it only made her head throb more.

"Of course it does, my boy, and I have accordingly provided you with that answer."

She peeled an eye open, then the other, blinking blearily and realising that the light came from an odd ball hovering near the ceiling, glowing dimly. It drifted about now and then, but never left the general vicinity of the ceiling.

"You talking circles around me is not very amusing, Headmaster. Why, then, did you burn the parchment containing the spell mere seconds after we had conducted the ritual itself?"

Hermione inched closer to the edge of the bed to hear better – was Snape implying that Dumbledore was purposefully covering something up?

"An old man's mistake, Severus."

"And the knife?"

_Thud._

"What was that?"

Oh bugger! Hermione hurriedly scrambled up from the floor, only to find that her vaguely jelly-like legs promptly gave away again. The door edged open, revealing two visibly male silhouettes. She gave them a sheepish smile and smoothed her hair self consciously. "Uh – good morning, Professors!"

"Miss Granger, how lovely to see you awake," there was, as always, an amused twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes; but Snape's expression was flat and gave nothing away. "I trust that you are feeling alright?"

"Obviously not, judging from that fall." Snape commented idly, crossing his arms and regarding her. "I'll supply you with a headache relieving potion and strengthening potions."

Hermione couldn't refrain from blinking in surprise at the uncharacteristic offer of help from the snarky Potions master. "Oh, erm… thank you, Professor."

The man's expression darkened ever so slightly, and he seemed about to reply before the Headmaster interrupted cheerily, "Well, I expect Miss Granger has had enough for the day. I have taken the liberty of summoning breakfast; a house-elf shall be arriving at the dungeons shortly." He offered her a sunny smile and a nod, then turned and whisked away in his star-dusted, warm purple robes. Snape gave her another dark look before billowing after the Headmaster.

Her head was still much too fragile for her to appropriately contemplate the whirlwind events during the past five minutes, and so the bemused Gryffindor latched onto the only detail she could, Dumbledore's words: the dungeons. She turned to observe her surroundings for the very first time, noting the black sheets smoothed over her – no, _his_ bed; the prominent shades of green and silver that frosted the room; the cold stone slabs that made up the impersonal chamber; the abandoned fireplace that was tucked into a lonely corner; towers upon towers of fresh-leafed books that just called for you to stroke them, to devour the fables they offered; there was an ornate, gilded mirror, and next to it a wardrobe made of what she could only assume was oak.

It was all so incredibly Severus Snape.

She assumed that they had brought her here so as not to disturb her dorm-mates and arouse their suspicions.

The door opened again, and from her perch on the ground, she saw a black-clad midriff, with a pair of pale, weathered hands before it, carrying a cup of tea and a familiar leather-encased box. Her scrutiny travelled upwards, skimming over the tightly buttoned frock coat – why was the man so conscious about his attire even in his own home? – onto a pale neck that was touched by a few strands of inky black hair, until she met a burning, unfathomable gaze. She blushed, and her eyes immediately returned to its former inspection of the rug below her feet.

"Drink up, Miss Granger." Professor Snape said dryly, conjuring an armchair and thrusting the tea practically under her nose. After a brief pause, she took the drink, giving it a dubious stare.

"It hasn't been poisoned, in case you were wondering," her Potions professor drawled, stirring his own tea and setting down the box. "I did, however, add the required amounts of headache relieving potion and strengthening potion, for your benefit."

Hermione hadn't actually doubted the quality of the drink, despite his thoughts otherwise, but she sipped at the drink after his words. It was bitter, but that was probably because she was unaccustomed to tea so early in the morning.

"If you have sated your thirst... hold out your hand, Miss Granger."

She looked up in surprise, inappropriate thoughts immediately racing across her mind before she could squander them. Instinctively, her hand rose, albeit somewhat warily. An ebony rod was pressed into her palm, and she could actually _feel_ the powerful tingle that skimmed over her skin and the electrifying buzz that travelled along her veins. Her fingers closed over the smooth wood, and it felt like it had been specifically tailored for her grip from the beginning. It felt… different, although she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

"It hums," her voice was barely a whisper, but he heard. "May I…?" She held up the wand and pointed it at a piece of paper.

"Be careful with it, Miss Granger, this is not your typical wand."

Her brows furrowed in a silent question, but he simply nodded for her to continue, a small gesture for _you'll see_.

Accordingly, she aimed at the parchment, then… "_Accio_ parchment! Oh… wha-"

A lean figure came hurtling at her, knocking her to a side a second before the animated parchment soared her way, missing her head by a fraction of an inch. Nevertheless, strands of her frizzy brown hair fell to the floor, cleanly sliced in half by the seemingly harmless piece of paper. Hermione's palm flew up to rest against her mouth, stifling the gasp that left her lips. Her eyes were round with wonder, and she darted a look at Snape, who was dusting his sleeves off quite pompously. His dark brows quirked in an I-told-you-so sort of manner.

How infuriating.

"Now, as you know, I have been assigned to educate you on your skills with hexes -"

"My hexing is just _fine_… in fact, without blowing my own horn, sir, I'd say it's more than above average." No doubt owing to the threesome's reckless escapades, of course.

There was a dangerous silence, during which the abashed 5th year squirmed uncomfortably, her chin tilting downwards in an appropriate gesture of embarrassment.

"Whilst I do not appreciate your unprompted interruption, Miss Granger – where, I might add, you did an admirably fine job of 'blowing your own horn' – will your hexing be _just fine_ with this particular wand?" he slid the black wand from her fingers and dangled it in front of her, his eyebrows lifting in the way only he could. When no response came from her lips, he sneered and fitted the wand back into his box.

"I thought so. If you expect to be trained properly under _my _eye, I will tolerate no spontaneous, impulsive gestures; you will, as always, address me by my suitable title only, and comply with each and every exercise I craft for you. There will be no foolishness or tomfoolery, and I will anticipate no less than a sharp mind and wit. Have I made myself clear?"

Hermione contemplated _not_ answering the hateful git for a brief moment. "As crystal," she relented, with a heavy sigh for good measure.

* * *

"Ron, can you _please_ put that down, and for Merlin's sake start _studying_ for once?" said Hermione, shooting discrete glares at the redhead whenever she could spare a second away from her Arithmancy textbook.

Ron, on the other hand, didn't seem particularly concerned about risking her wrath, and only continued perusing the newest edition of a Quidditch magazine.

"_Ronald Weasley_," Hermione growled, finally setting her quill down and snatching the thing from his hands. "I thought you'd be capable of thinking of your future for once, instead of pointlessly devouring comic after comic after comic!"

"I hardly think my future is going to be spent buried in books and studying for exams… and now that I think about it, having a broomstick up my arse doesn't seem very appealing either!" he retorted, whipping his magazine back from her. "And it's a _magazine_, not a comic."

By now, they had captured the entire common room's attention, and Hermione was blushing an angry red. "Well I don't see the difference! They're as daft and silly as the other, aren't they? God, when will you ever stop being so immature and naïve, and start acting like your _age_ for once?"

She punctuated her tirade by dramatically scraping her armchair back and standing to leave. But two or three fuming stomps later she realised that she had, in fact, left her books behind.

"You know what, Hermione?" Ron's complexion was as red as his hair by now. "Being smart won't necessarily get you anywhere! Take… take Victor Krum, for example! Compare him to that greasy old bat Snape… who d'you think is better off? Honestly? Skulking around the dungeons doesn't seem like a dream job to me!"

"It's better than mindlessly whipping around on a bloody stick all day while others are fighting for their lives in this goddamned war!"

The atmosphere in the room gave a whole new definition to the word 'silence'. Everyone tried and failed miserably at subtly shrinking back from her fierce glower as Hermione gathered her books and stormed into the girls' dormitories.

Nosy old busybodies. She placed her pile of books on the desk. _Bang_.

Immature little brat. She landed on the hard wooden chair. _Thud._

Stupid, impulsive, idiotic old Hermione. Her head fell into the cradle of her arms. _Inhale._

What in Merlin's name had she done? Had she just jeopardized the only chance they had of bringing Voldemort down from his throne? Her cinnamon eyes squeezed shut when the full implications of what she had ruined came crashing down on her. She had to find Professor Dumbledore.

She stood so abruptly that the chair crashed to the floor, but Hermione paid it no heed as she rushed towards the common room, ignoring everyone's curious stares, and down the corridors. Maybe it could still work

No…no, of course it couldn't, the spell's aim was to draw love from between a couple, and even before this insignificant feud, Hermione was certain that it was something she and Ron had never had.

But… why would Dumbledore suggest it, then? Wasn't he omnipotent? Didn't he know absolutely every sodding thing that you could come up with? Perhaps he was right, perhaps it could work…

The Gryffindor hesitated at the foot of the Headmaster's office's staircase, where the set of stone gargoyles sat. "Let me in, I have to speak with the Headmaster."

The statues remained stubbornly blank-faced.

"Please, _please_ let me in. It's an urgent, urgent matter."

When they still remained motionless, she sighed threw her hands up in defeat. "Oh, all right then, erm… Chocolate Frogs, Hiccup Sweets, Ton-Tongue Toffees, lemon drops – oh, _open up_ already!"

"Interesting choice of guesses, Miss Granger," Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin when a voice spoke from behind her. "Unfortunately, I have decided to vary from the sweets, it's been getting rather dull, don't you think? I opted instead for Nose Biting Teacup."

The gargoyles immediately stretched and parted.

"Oh, erm… H-Headmaster," Hermione greeted awkwardly. Now that she stood before him, she found that words wouldn't form. The astute old wizard's bushy grey brows rose, and he swept an elegant hand forwards, gesturing for her to go first.

"Now, what is it that you wanted, Hermione?" he asked kindly, when he too stepped onto the staircase, and it started spiralling upwards.

"I… uh, well, you see Professor… me and Ron…" it suddenly seemed much more trivial coming from her mouth than it sounded in her head. "Well, I'm not very sure that the, er… spell will work, quite honestly."

Dumbledore nodded benignly, and popped a lemon drop into her mouth as he thought. "Let's step into my office, Hermione."


	5. There Was Time

This is just a little filler while I try to get over my writer's block - after all, I did promise more regular updates ;)

caeria - so am I... Ah, Albus always does things for a reason, and that's all I'm going to say. I'm glad you like my story!

Natsuyori - Snape is oh-so-deliciously-fun, isn't he? I'm glad you like this version of him!

The Great Green Leaf of Peril, Transylvanian - thanks for reviewing!

**EDIT:at one of duj's suggestions, I have altered the interaction between Malfoy and Snape slightly, nothing extremely noticeable. Thanks duj!**

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A flickering light illuminated the pale, angular face, framed by somewhat greasy dark strands. It provided a backdrop for shadows, but all was still except for the tap of a quill. 

Severus Snape was dawdling. He _never_ dawdled.

He never tapped quills either. The professor gave the writing tool an accusatory stare, then put it down and swept the pile of essays to the side. Loathe as he was to admit it, he had nothing desirable to do. How pathetic. It was a Sunday afternoon and he was holed up in this gloomy, lightless dungeon doing nothing. He contemplated striding through the corridors for a breath of fresh air and stood to leave before he remembered that it was Flitwick's shift that day.

Bugger it all, he'd have his stroll anyhow, Flitwick or no Flitwick.

With a pang, the Potions master was reminded by a pile of scrolls in the corner that he should have been researching ancient spells that led a direct line to the current weakening spell, for it was far from completed, but he found that the urge to leave the suffocating chambers overrode his sense of responsibility.

_Which is probably why you bear that dreadful mark on your left arm,_ Snape thought. He checked and rechecked his wards before making his way through the corridors. _Impulsiveness is overrated._

It wasn't that he was trying to _condone_ his adolescent self though, of course not, he was merely mulling, analysing, dissecting… just like Dumbledore had instructed him to.

Oh bloody Merlin, now he was reassuring himself with _Dumbledore's_ random mumbo-jumbo?

"You'd better take that back Malfoy!"

Snape was startled from his thoughts by an enraged yell – he assumed that the voice's owner was just around the corner by the sheer volume of it, and thought he had quite a good idea of just _who_ the owner was.

"Well it's the truth, Potter," a sly voice retorted. "I can't fathom what a person with an ego as big as yours is doing cavorting about with a mudblood and a blood traitor."

"Oh, you're going to regret that! _Expelliarmus!_"

"Harry, don't!" this voice was feminine. Undoubtedly Potter's sidekick Granger. Snape's footsteps lengthened, propelling him swiftly down the corridor. No matter how urgent the matter was, though, he simply refused to run. How embarrassingly undignified.

He rounded the corner just in time to witness a blond, slender figure dodging Potter's attempt. The young Malfoy instantly raised his wand, but instead of pointing it at the Boy Who Lived, he surprised everyone by aiming his next spell at Hermione Granger instead.

"Potter, Malfoy! Cease this foolishness immediately!"

Everyone paused for a moment, uncertain as to who had spoken, then realisation dawned and all six pairs of eyes turned as one to the dark, menacing figure that darkened the corner – Professer Snape.

There was an abrupt flash, and everyone's hands rose to shield their faces instinctively. Snape thought he heard a decidedly familiar voice – Weasley's – shouting, "_Protego!_" There was a cry, and then all was quiet.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor and Slytherin each!" Snape roared, surveying the damage. There was none visible to him, but he was quickly proved wrong when his burning gaze came to land on a bushy-haired figure on the ground.

"Potter, Weasley, kindly deliver Miss Granger to the infirmary," he instructed in deceivingly silky tones, and after an awkward pause, the two boys complied without a complaint. "Malfoy, stay behind, I want a word with you."

The boy nodded, and with a practiced flick of his wrist sent his two cronies lumbering away. The pair stood in silence. The only thing breaking it was Weasley's hushed, angered whispers as they walked away, "Probably siding with his precious Slytherin protégé, that greasy git is. 50 points… from us! Honestly, he started it all, didn't he Harry?"

"_Well_, Malfoy? I trust you have an adequate enough explanation for your actions today."

The Slytherin shifted uncomfortably under his Head of House's gaze. "He started it." was finally all he came up with.

Snape gave a deep sigh before waving his wand to summon a Silencing Charm to shield them from nosy ears. "I am aware that the Headmaster gave you implicit instructions to act as you usually would so as not to arouse suspicions, but instigating a scrap with Harry Potter is not what I would call laying low. In fact, much as it pains me to say so, attempting to befriend that bespectacled nuisance would probably be more of a benefit to the Order."

Malfoy scoffed and crossed his arms, "Firstly, I did _not_ 'instigate' it. Secondly, my father is wary enough as it is without me having to actually _hang around_ that ponce."

The Potions Master half-heartedly quirked a brow at his godson's less than courteous choice of vocabulary – but he found that his attention was on the injured little know-it-all instead of where it should have been. McGonagall would have his head on a platter if she ever found out that he had been in a conversation with Malfoy rather than tending to her precious little bookworm.

"Fine. You would, however, do well to add the word 'discretion' to your ever expanding dictionary, Draco. Now, shoo."

"And you, dear godfather, would do well to learn the word 'shampoo'" the boy gave him a charming little smirk before sauntering off. Quite maddening, the lad was.

"Ten points from Slytherin for that, Mr. Malfoy." He arched a dark brow when the blond head faltered, then turned as if to protest. But, probably thinking better of it, Malfoy gave a little huff and turned away.

Draco, Snape mused, as he headed for the infirmary, was a tolerable companion, intelligent too, if he'd allow himself to show it. Snape was relieved that he had chosen the way of the Light instead of following in his father's footsteps. In _his_ footsteps.

His tall, lithe figure arrived at the Hospital Wing in virtually no time at all. It seemed, however, that Madame Pomfrey had her work cut out for her. It was crowded and noisy in the normally hushed room, and Snape stood with his brows furrowed until he remembered what day it was – April Fools'. Ruddy school children.

"Ah, Severus," someone greeted from behind him. He whirled to face the person, although there was no need to, really, he'd recognise that jovial old voice anywhere. "I was planning to visit Miss Granger here, to elaborate on a few details we discussed from an earlier meeting, but I see there is no need now that you are here. She is in far more capable hands." The Headmaster gave him a little wink before bumbling off again.

What was that doddering old fool scheming on now? Snape's mood darkened considerably as he stalked down the aisle, glaring at each bed's occupant as he did so. Bothersome little dunderheads, going around and ruining his day by starting fights all over the corridors, and now he was saddled with an injured student. Pah. It was no wonder they did so dreadfully in Potions, when they opted to stroll about searching for potential sparring partners instead of studying. Really, children these days had no common sense at all.

"Potter, Weasley!" the pair literally jumped at his bellow.

Madame Pomfrey immediately came bustling out, as if his call had been some sort of catalyst in an explosive potions reaction. "Honestly, Severus! Shouting the place down when there are patients practically overflowing the room!" she gave him a reprimanding frown before rushing over to Hermione's bed. If he hadn't felt any regret before, she had taken good care of that.

The Healer tutted and sighed as she fussed over the unconscious girl. "Now, now, what have we here? What happened this time?"

"Er – well, she was hexed," Ron offered helpfully.

"And I suppose your shield was a tremendous help," Snape commented snidely, gliding closer to the two boys. "I take the lessons are going well with Professor McGonagall?"

He was certain now that he wasn't mistaken that he had heard the weak 'Protego' coming from the Weasley boy when the Gryffindor's whole face flushed a deep and rather unattractive red. What empathy he felt for Minerva at the task that had fallen at her feet. "Now, enlighten me with your side of the story whilst Madame Pomfrey tends to Miss Granger."

Harry and Ron exchanged uneasy glances before the more courageous and, he daresay, brighter of the two spoke up. "Well, Ron and I, we were looking for Hermione because he wanted to… erm, apologise to her after a row they had earlier. We found her right in the corridor you saw us in, and they were barely talking when that prat Malfoy came along –"

"Language, Potter."

"– and started sneering and calling us names."

"That's when you walked in," Ron added.

"Oh dear," said Madame Pomfrey, causing all three to look at her inquisitively. "Was there a flash when Mr. Malfoy hexed her?"

"Er… yes," Ron answered.

"She's been hit with a Conjunctivitis Curse." Madame Pomfrey announced gravely.

Snape's brows furrowed further at the statement, and he turned to glower darkly at Harry and Ron, clearly implying that it was their fault he now had a wounded Gryffindor under his patrol. "Return to your common rooms, now! And detention with Filch at eight o'clock _sharp_ tonight."

"But, Hermione –" Ron stammered.

"Miss Granger is not your problem at the moment," Snape hissed, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he pointed towards the doorway. "Out. Now."

There was a pause during which the air practically vibrated with hostility; then, finally, Harry moved, breaking the tense atmosphere. He stalked angrily out, with his redheaded friend close at his heels.

The Potions Master only had a brief moment of triumph, however – he had only time to sneer before a plastic cup was thrust under that infamous nose of his.

"Give that to Miss Granger," Madame Pomfrey ordered, before she rushed off to another patient. What? Him, feed a student? Snape frowned at the medicine in his hand and shot a hesitant glance at that bushy-haired nuisance. Really, he could just leave it on the bedside table, and later she could…

"Severus, what are you waiting for? It needs to be administered swiftly!" that sharp voice filled his head again as a familiar plump figure bustled past.

Wretched, bossy, commandeering witch. Reluctantly he drew up a chair and sat next to the girl's bed. Her eyelids were fluttering weakly, and she seemed coherent enough to swallow the purple-tinted liquid.

Snape sighed and intoned her name as he held the cup to her lips obligingly, managing to look bored and irritated at the same time. Her eyelids flickered some more – drawing his attention to her fawn colored eyelashes – and he had to call her name again to get a reaction. It wasn't however, the reaction he had been expecting. Those entrancing eyelashes stilled, then clenched painfully before a hoarse cry left her lips, and a hesitant arm rose to shield her eyes. "It-it's too bright. What's wrong with my eyes? I can't…"

She tried to rise, but got tangled up in the stark white sheets and tumbled to the ground instead. Foolish girl. Snape settled the remedy down onto her bedside table before standing almost lazily to help her up. "You've been hit with a curse, Miss Granger," he murmured flatly. "Get up before you make a spectacle of yourself."

"I – what curse?" her chest rose rapidly as she struggled for breath. She still looked quite frightened, so he attempted to help by steering her to the bed and flinging the blankets over her.

"A Conjunctivitis Curse. Drink this."

Once again, he held the cup against her lips – but it almost spilled when a pale, slender hand lifted blindly, groping the empty air until it rested on his. He winced, but kept his grip steady as she guided the drink towards her mouth. His hand looked so old, so weathered and imperfect under those fair, delicate fingers. Lovely white innocence against a backdrop of wizened, undesirable experiences.

"Thank you, Professor…" the hand faltered on his when she finished drinking. He swore that it lingered for a second or two before dropping limply to the bed, but perhaps it was only a lonely man's delusions. He cleared his throat and offered another cup. "Sleeping Draught."

She finished that too, and soon enough, the effects began to show as her mass of curls sunk peacefully into the pillow.

He should return to the dungeons.

He should continue grading papers.

He should make some more progress on that spell… but there was time.

Oddly, Severus Snape found that he was for the first time going against his valued common sense and opting to stay by the know-it-all's side.

He really shouldn't be. But she looked so serene and lovely and perfect.

There was time.


End file.
